


One Night

by felineranger



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rimmer and Lister both think back to a night before the accident.</p><p>***Updated***  I wrote the first part of this ages ago but I re-read it recently and it turned out Lister and Rimmer had a bit more to say on the subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in early series 1.

            Rimmer jogged down the grey corridor, pearls of sweat blooming on his forehead and trickling down his neck.  He’d made almost a complete circuit of the ship this morning.  He didn’t normally push himself this much, but today he needed the pain, the focus, to clear his mind of all else.  He’d had the dream again.

            Of all the memories to haunt him so, to stick in his mind and reappear again and again in his sleep, why in God’s name had his brain chosen this one?  Why couldn’t he relive one of his rare triumphs – a win at Risk, that night with Yvonne - something that would make him wake feeling happy and content instead of uneasy and confused?

            He supposed he should be grateful.  There were some horrific memories locked away in his head that would be worse to confront – his own death for starters - at least this wasn’t a nightmare as such.  In fact it was positively mundane, but there was something about the regularity of it that disturbed him.  As if his mind were trying to tell him something.  Something very important that he’d missed.  But what?

            The dream was basically a replay of a night just before the accident.  Rimmer had been in the Copocabana, sat alone at a table in the corner and keeping an eye on Lister.  This wasn’t unusual, Rimmer frequently tagged along on Lister’s nights out, usually at a discreet distance.  The first time Lister had spotted him doing this he had asked in a hurt voice why Rimmer hadn’t just agreed to come out for a drink with him when he’d asked, instead of sitting on his own.  Rimmer had informed him haughtily that he didn’t _want_ to be out at all.  He was only here to monitor Lister’s behaviour and ensure that the little worm wouldn’t do anything that would, as Rimmer’s bunkmate, bring them both into disrepute. 

For the most part, Lister never even realised he was there on these nights out.  On the few occasions he had noticed him he had initially renewed the offer to join him and his friends, but had soon given up asking.  Rimmer never said yes.

            On this particular night, Rimmer noted, Lister seemed depressed.  _Still sulking over Kochanski_ , he thought disapprovingly.  As if getting chucked by that hoity-toity skinny cow was the worst thing that had ever happened to anyone, anywhere, ever.  The one good thing that had come out of that thankfully short affair, as far as Rimmer could see, was that she’d managed to improve Lister’s dress sense by at least one iota.  Desperate to impress his rather more refined lover, Lister had chucked out some of his more disgusting clothing and invested in a new wardrobe.  It wasn’t exactly what Rimmer would class as respectable attire, but there was no denying that the black shirts and tight leather were an improvement on the curry-stained football shirts that had gone before.

            Lister was watching Petersen, Selby and Chen play an unruly drinking game with an expression of obvious despair.  They didn’t seem to have noticed that he was no longer joining in.  There was a half empty pint glass by his elbow but he seemed to have lost interest in it.  He looked, frankly, miserable.

            A face across the room suddenly caught Rimmer’s eye.  A man, perched on a stool by the bar.  Rimmer didn’t know his name, but on a ship like Red Dwarf everyone started to look familiar after a few months cooped up together.  The reason he caught Rimmer’s attention was because he too seemed to be watching Lister’s table.  Or rather, watching Lister.

            Rimmer narrowed his eyes.  What business did this man have, hanging around blatantly watching other people?  Didn’t he have a life of his own?  Now that Rimmer thought about it, he was sure he’d seen him in here before.  He’d sparked up a brief conversation with Lister while queuing for drinks just a couple of weeks ago.  Did they know each other, and if so, how?  He wasn’t on Z-shift and Lister had never mentioned another friend.  Who was this guy?

            As Rimmer watched, he stood up and approached the table, tapping Lister on the shoulder.  Lister looked up and smiled politely.  Rimmer carefully noted the body language.  Not a close friend then, they clearly didn’t know each other very well.  They spoke a few words and the man pulled up a chair beside Lister and sat down.  Lister turned his chair away from his friends, who were rapidly losing the faculty of speech anyway and they started chatting.  Rimmer couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but gradually he noticed a change in Lister’s face.  There was an expression there which was indefinable to Rimmer, something he’d never seen before.  He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual broad silly grin.  There was something bashful, almost coy about it.  After a few minutes the man said something, raised his eyebrows and inclined his head towards the door.  Lister hesitated, looked over his shoulder at his friends, who were now sprawled across the table and – in Peterson’s case – the floor, then turned back and nodded.  They stood up.

            Rimmer stood too, tiptoeing after them at a distance.  As they reached the swinging doors out into the corridor, the man pushed the door open and stood back to let Lister through.  As he went past, he laid a hand on the small of his back, then followed him out.  Rimmer stopped in his tracks and stared.  What did this man think he was doing touching Lister like that?  They’d only known each other five minutes and suddenly he was all touchy-feely like they were BFF’s all of a sudden?  Rimmer was incensed by the impropriety of it.  He marched after them and stormed through the doors, only to find they were lost in the Saturday night crowd.

            Cross and uneasy, he made his way back to the sleeping quarters.  When he awoke the next morning, Lister was emerging from the shower having clearly just come home.  “Where were you all night?” Rimmer demanded.

“Just with the guys,” Lister replied airily. 

“All night?” Rimmer probed suspiciously.

“Yeah.  Why?”  Lister asked innocently, towelling his damp hair.

“You don’t seem hungover,” Rimmer replied accusingly.  Lister grinned,

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s an _unusual_ thing,” Rimmer pointed out.  Lister shrugged,

“Maybe I’m building up a resistance.”

            Rimmer fumed quietly.  _Liar!  Tell me where you were last night!  Who’s that man you went off with so I couldn’t find you!  Tell me!_ Out loud he said, “Well as you’re so chipper this morning, you can do the toilet shift.  How’s that?”

 

            He’d never seen the man again and a few weeks later he’d been reduced to radioactive dust, along with everyone else.  But every now and then the dream would reoccur and that stab of discomfort would return.  Why had Lister lied to him?  What had he done that night?  And why did the memory of that strange man resting his hand so lightly on Lister’s back, in a way that Rimmer never had – and now never could - still make him feel…something he couldn’t explain.

Rimmer ran and ran, sweat flowers blooming on his white t-shirt, as he tried to shake the image from his mind and forget the past.  And the present.


	2. Chapter 2

            Lister was sprawled on his stomach in his bunk, watching a vid, when Rimmer returned from his run.  He glanced away from the screen to give his sweaty bunkmate the once-over.  Why Rimmer still bothered with the morning runs was beyond him, as the exercise had no bearing on his physical form.  There was no point keeping fit when you were dead, was there?  But, Lister mused, on the upside it gave Rimmer a sense of purpose and – he had to admit – he looked good in the running shorts. 

He felt a familiar stirring within his own shorts and turned his attention back to the vid as Rimmer ‘showered’ and dressed.  Brooding on those feelings was as pointless as Rimmer’s exercise regime, the time when they could have been of any use long gone.  But it had been too long since he was touched, _really_ touched, by anyone and Lister wasn’t quite ready to close himself off and accept that there were some things he’d never experience again.  The universe was too full of possibilities and Lister was afraid that if he didn’t give those emotional muscles a flex every now and then, they’d be useless when he finally got a chance to use them. 

It didn’t help that his freshest, most accessible memories of physical affection were connected so inextricably in his mind with his bunkmate, although Rimmer hadn’t been the one giving it.

He’d gone to the Copacabana with Peterson, Selby and Chen that night, hoping for some relief from the post-Kochanski blues.  To say that his companions had been of little help was an understatement.  They had only one solution to every problem known to mankind and Lister did not feel like drinking himself into a stupor.  He’d watched them descend into gross inebriation, knowing he’d have joined in with them just weeks ago, and wondered what Kriss had ever seen in him.  No wonder she’d decided she could do better. 

Across the room he’d caught sight of Rimmer, half hidden behind a pillar wrapped in plastic ivy.  He sighed inwardly.  This was getting stupid.  At first he’d believed the man’s flimsy excuses for stalking him.  It would be typical of Rimmer to follow him around _waiting_ for him to do something wrong so he could put him on report, but he’d gradually realised that there was more to it than petty spite.  Particularly once he’d noticed that Rimmer only ever seemed to intervene in his evening if it looked like he was anywhere near to getting off with someone.  Although there had been one night when it had come in useful. 

Freshly dumped and emotionally whiplashed, he’d spent the evening drinking heavily with his friends.  One by one, they’d succumbed to the booze and either wandered off or passed out, until Lister had finally looked around himself and realised he was alone.  Alone, friendless and loveless.  And drunk.  He’d slumped to the table, sobbing.  He didn’t really remember what had happened next, but he remembered Rimmer’s face, sliding in and out of focus.  When he’d woken up the next morning, he was tucked up in Rimmer’s bunk under a blanket.  There was a dustbin placed carefully next to the bed.  It stank of vomit.  Someone had removed his boots and left a glass of cold water on the bedside cabinet.  Lister had barely had a moment to feel a wave of surprised warmth for his roommate, before the man himself had entered the room and started berating him – loudly – for his behaviour.

Since that night he’d held back on the booze, and started spending less time with his friends.  And on the occasions when he did go out, he no longer felt annoyed when he spied Rimmer hovering on the far side of the room. 

Just as he was debating whether to get up and leave the guys to their stupid game, and maybe confront Rimmer while he was at it, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.  He looked up, surprised.  “Oh, hi.”

“Hi there.  Dave, right?”

“Yeah.  Uh…Leon?”  Lister quickly scrambled round his memory for the name.

“Yeah,” the man smiled warmly, “Mind if I join you?”

“No, go ahead.”

            The man pulled up his chair and nodded to Lister’s companions, “You guys celebrating something?”

“Just the usual,” Lister replied, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice, “Y’know, day with a ‘Y’ in it.  Can’t let one of them go by without marking the occasion with a piss-up.”  Leon raised his eyebrows,

“You’re not pleased it’s Friday?”

“Not as pleased as them.”

“Bad day?”

“Bad month.  Is it that obvious?”

“You’re not your usual smiley self.” 

Lister was taken aback.  That wasn’t an observation he’d expect from a guy who he’d chatted to at the bar once, “How would you know? You hardly know me.”

“I’ve got eyes.  I use them,” Leon said meaningfully.

“Is that so?”

“Let’s just say I’ve noticed you around,” he added, “I like the new threads by the way.”

“Thanks,” Lister said blankly.

“You look good in leather,”

Lister leaned back in his chair, both intrigued and slightly amused, “Are you _flirting_ with me, man?”

“Little bit,” Leon replied frankly, “Is that okay?”

           “Um…” Lister hesitated, somewhat flustered.  Hell, it wasn’t the first time this had happened to him, although it had been a while.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d acted on it either– if he chose to – but that had been an even longer while.  This was kind of a leap, considering he’d been contemplating marriage, kids and a cat less than a month ago.  And his friends were sat right there, although he doubted they could hear his conversation over the music.  They weren’t exactly homophobic - Peterson had punched a bloke in the face once for calling Bob in their poker group a ‘cheating faggot’ after a game hadn’t gone his way.  “It’s not a big deal,” Bob had said afterwards, desperately trying to calm things, “I mean, you lot call me Bent Bob all the time!”

“Yeah,” Peterson had pointed out, “But we’re your mates.  That’s _allowed_.”    

            However, Lister didn’t fancy spending the next two years of his life being known as ‘Bent Dave’.  And he knew that Leon wasn’t the only person in this bar using his eyes tonight.  “I’ll get back to you on that,” he told his new friend, smiling shyly.  Leon smiled back. 

“Okay.  So come on then, tell me.  Why so glum?”

“I just got dumped,” Lister said frankly.

“Kochanski.  Yeah, I heard.”

“So you use your ears too,” Lister remarked dryly.

“I haven’t been snooping.  Everyone knows.  You two were quite a hot topic for a while there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, no offence or anything, but you weren’t exactly an ‘obvious’ couple.”  Lister flicked a glance over his shoulder at his semi-comatose companions, “No,” he agreed flatly, “I suppose not.”

“I mean, c’mon,” Leon smiled, “You’re _way_ too hot for her.”

“Yeah,” Lister replied, rolling his eyes, “She was really punching above her weight with a catch like me.  I bet she’s lying awake right now regretting the terrible mistake she’s made.”

“If she isn’t, then she’s a fool.” Leon told him.

              Lister took a sip of his drink, flattered but slightly embarrassed.  “The question is,” he raised an eyebrow, “If you know all about me and Kriss, then what makes you think you’ve got a shot?”

“Call it a hunch.”

“Don’t give me that ‘gaydar’ crap, man.”

“I wasn’t going to.  You just struck me as a nice enlightened 23rd century guy who wouldn’t mind the offer.”

“Nice line,” Lister smiled, “I may have to use that.”

“Feel free.  But clearly I was right, or I wouldn’t still be sitting here, would I?”

“Don’t get cocky,” Lister smiled, “Maybe I’m just humouring you out of curiosity.”

“Curiosity can be a dangerous thing,” Leon smiled back.  He leaned forward confidentially, “It can lead to all _sorts_ of things.”

            The guy was quite attractive, Lister decided.  Well built, thick dark blond hair and hazel eyes that reminded him of someone else, but he couldn’t think who.  What was more important to him right now was who they _didn’t_ remind him of – and that was Kochanski.  Maybe this was just what he needed.  Another woman right now, _any_ woman, would just be a desperate substitute.  A placebo.  Perhaps a night of something completely different would clear his mind.  It had been a long time since he’d indulged in a bit of playful rough and tumble with another guy, the idea of it was very appealing suddenly.  And it had been a long time since anyone had pursued him like this, made him feel…desirable. 

“Oh really?” he asked, assuming his most innocent expression, “Like what?”

“That’s up to you.  But it never hurts to be open to a little…experimentation.”  Lister laughed, dropping the façade of naivety. 

“This wouldn’t exactly be an experiment for me,” he retorted.  “This would be more like…a change of scenery.”

“Interesting.  Well, that never hurts either.  And if that’s what you’re after, then I’m sure my sleeping quarters would make an excellent change of scenery.”  Lister’s pulse quickened slightly, “That’s very forward.  You haven’t even offered to buy me a drink yet.”

“Do you want one?”

“No.”

“Would you like to come back to my room?”

            Lister fought with himself for just a moment.  He glanced over his shoulder at his friends, wondering how to explain to them that he was leaving with some guy.  He needn’t have worried.  They were all out for the count.  He turned back to Leon, who was watching him patiently.  “Yeah,” he said, “Okay.”

            As they stood up, a movement across the room caught his eye.  Rimmer getting to his feet.  Oh, yes.  He’d almost forgotten about him.  Well, he could make something up to throw Rimmer off the scent if needed.  Unless the smeghead followed them all the way to Leon’s room and then listened outside the door, of course.  Lister wouldn’t put it past him. 

As they passed through the doors of the bar, he felt the gentle press of Leon’s hand against his back.  Not quite a caress, but something close.  Lister’s cheeks flamed and he quickened his pace.  Rimmer would have seen that, no doubt about it.  He was angry with himself suddenly.  Why should he care if Rimmer saw?  There was no law against what he was doing.  He was a grown man.  A sudden streak of rebelliousness shot through his veins.  If Rimmer was going to smegging well follow him about, then he’d give him something to see.  Let him call him out tomorrow if he dared.

He spun to face Leon, grabbing his hand and pulling him into an alcove.  The crowds of bar-hoppers surrounding them didn’t give them a second glance.  “Kiss me,” he demanded.  Leon raised an eyebrow,

“Here?”

“Right here,” Lister insisted, leaning back invitingly against the wall.  Leon stepped up, firmly grasped his hips and covered his mouth with his own.  Lister murmured with pleasure.  This guy could kiss.  This was going to be a fun evening.  It had _definitely_ been too long since he’d done this.

            As they slipped out of the alcove and went on their way, Lister risked a glance back over his shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of Rimmer’s shocked face in the crowd.  He couldn’t see him anywhere.  He felt a slight stab of disappointment then shook himself.  It didn’t matter, it had been a childish thing to do anyway.  If Rimmer asked him about tonight he’d play dumb and see if he had the guts to confront him.  Maybe if he did, then he’d finally have the guts to admit to Lister why he’d been following him in the first place.  And who knew what might happen then….?

 


	3. Chapter 3

Some years later:

 

Lister sat slumped in a chair next to Rimmer. While doing a stock inventory, Rimmer had come across the old dream recorder and dragged it out. He’d lost his ‘Learn Esperanto’ tapes some time ago (Lister had hidden them and could no longer remember where) and thought maybe he could transcribe them from the dreams he’d had while using his self-hypnosis tapes. Suspecting that Lister was behind the mysterious disappearance of the originals, he’d been drafted in to help. It was not what Lister would have considered an ideal way to spend an afternoon but he had nothing better to do, and he’d thought that the odd gem might pop up that would give him some entertainment and teasing ammunition, however Rimmer quickly fast-forwarded through anything that looked the least bit amusing or embarrassing and Lister was starting to get bored and restless. “Can we at least take a break?” he begged, “I’m not sure how many more nightmare exam scenarios I can sit through.”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. This is much harder for me than it is for you. It’s very traumatic re-living some of these.”

“Yes, I’m sure the dream where your exam paper started taunting you in a French accent and your pen turned into a baguette was deeply upsetting, but we’ve been at this for hours now, man!”            

A new dream began to play out across the screen, a night in the Copacabana before the accident, and their bickering ceased as they both fell silent at the sight of their dead crew-mates. Lister swallowed hard. So many of these faces had faded completely from his mind long ago, others had slowly become hazy and indistinct with time. To see them again like this, brought back into sharp focus in a living snapshot that would never fade with the passing years, brought so many memories crashing back. It somehow made the loss feel real again.

            He saw himself, young and eerily fresh-faced, sitting at a table drinking with his friends. Or rather, not drinking with his friends. He looked sad, distracted. _Still reeling from the aftermath of The Great Dumping_ , he mused correctly, looking at his own morbidly dismal countenance. He tried to summon up some pity for his young, heartbroken self and couldn’t quite manage it. _You thought you had problems, kid. If you had only known what was lurking just round the corner, then that face would have been justified..._

            As he watched, a man in the background got up from his barstool, approached the table and touched him on the shoulder. A man with thick dark blond hair and hazel eyes. Suddenly, the memory crystallised and Lister gasped before he could stop himself. He remembered this night.

            He was startled by Rimmer’s voice beside him, suddenly barking “Spin on!” The images twitched into a speeded-up jittery dance and he turned to Rimmer in surprise, to see his face red and his eyes averted. Other memories began to rise and pop to the surface of his mind, like the tiny bubbles in a glass of lager, and he realised why his companion was so embarrassed. Rimmer didn’t want him to know he’d seen this. Rimmer didn’t want him to know he’d been there, watching him. God, he’d forgotten the slightly obsessive way the man used to follow him around in those days. Ironic really. If he’d known what their future held, he might not have felt such a strong compulsion to trail around after him. They were going to end up spending much more time together than he could have ever possibly wanted. And something else was coming back to him too. _“Where were you all night? – Just with the guys – All night? – Yeah, why?”_

            Oh, yes. The double bluff. He bit his lip. He’d lied to Rimmer about what he’d done and Rimmer had lied about not knowing. And this dream was about to blow both of their lies wide open. Lister almost wanted to laugh out loud. How pathetic was this, the pair of them getting so worked up over something so stupid, so insignificant, that had happened over three million years ago. What was the point? “Pause!” he said firmly. The dream froze instantly on screen, and there was Lister, heading through the doors of the bar, his companion gently ushering him through with one hand on his back. The image threw him slightly and he hesitated. He could still remember that touch. He remembered the way his cheeks had burned, not with excitement at the prospect of the night ahead – and it had been a good night – but because he had known Rimmer was watching.

            He felt guilty suddenly. What was the guy’s name? Leo? Leroy? He’d been so nice. And Lister had basically used him - to forget Kochanski and goad Rimmer. He’d been the last lover Lister had ever had, the last warm flesh and blood human he’d ever slept with (who wasn’t a weird alternate version of himself) and now he couldn’t even remember the poor guy’s name. What kind of an epitaph was that? Lister felt ashamed.

            He faced Rimmer, who was looking intently away from the screen as if he could erase its existence by ignoring it. “It’s okay,” Lister said flatly, “I knew you were there, man. I knew all along.” Rimmer glanced at him surprised,

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Lister looked back at the screen. “You’re not as discreet as you think you are.”

“If you knew I was there, then why did you lie to me in the morning?” Rimmer asked peevishly. “’Cos I wanted to see if you’d admit you’d been following me,” Lister replied honestly. Rimmer bristled, “Following you? You make me sound like some kind of stalker! I was not _following_ you!”

“Yes, you were,” Lister rolled his eyes, “And it wasn’t the only time either.”

“That is completely untrue!”

“So what were you doing all those nights when you’d miraculously, purely through chance, end up wherever I happened to be that evening? Because I never saw you meeting up with anyone else.”

“You’re not the only one who’s allowed a social life.”

“It’s only a social life if you’ve got friends to share it with,” Lister pointed out, slightly cruelly, “Otherwise it’s just hanging around watching people.”

“Well, that’s not against the law!”

“No, but it is sort of creepy.”

“I was not watching you!”

“I didn’t mind, you know,” Lister told him, more gently. Rimmer shifted uncomfortably. “It’s nice sometimes to know you have someone looking out for you.”

“Is that what you think I was doing?” Rimmer asked scathingly.

“Isn’t it? You brought me home that night when I crashed and burned after Kriss dumped me.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You don’t remember bringing me back to our room in floods of tears and putting me to bed in your bunk?”

“Oh _that_ ,” Rimmer said dismissively. He shrugged awkwardly, “What was I supposed to do? Someone else would have carted you back at closing time and left me to deal with you anyway. At least by taking you back myself I wasn’t going to get woken up in the middle of the night.”

“Maybe. But you didn’t have to take my shoes off and put me to bed.”

            Rimmer changed the subject, “So where did you go?” he asked, gesturing back to the screen.

Lister looked at him with surprise, “Where do you think?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked,” Rimmer replied tetchily.

“We went back to his room,” Lister said blankly.

“What for? Some of that ghastly marijuana gin? More of those hideous freaky fungus things you spiked me with?”

“What?”

“Come on, you must have been up to something dodgy or it wouldn’t have been such a big secret, would it?”

“You thought I was taking drugs?”

“Why else would you sneak off to some random guy’s room?”

            Lister stared at him, trying to work out if he was serious. He realised, somewhat disturbingly, that he was. “Rimmer,” he said very slowly and very carefully, “I went with him for sex.”

            Rimmer blinked. He looked at the screen, at the freeze frame of that man touching Lister so casually and a feeling a bit like panic began to grip him. “What?” he said.

“He came over and started chatting me up and...well,” Lister shrugged, “I was feeling lonely. And he was cute. I needed the attention, I suppose.”

“I...” Rimmer was slightly lost for words, “I didn’t know you did...that.”

“I haven’t often.”

“But you have...more than once.”

“Yes.”

“More than twice?” Lister smiled a little at his timid questioning.

“Yes.”

“More than...?”

“Think of a number lower than ten,” Lister told him, exasperated, “And you’ll end up in the right kind of ball-park.” He felt a certain amused satisfaction when Rimmer’s eyes bulged slightly. “It’s not a big deal,” he added nonchalantly.

“Not a big deal,” Rimmer repeated flatly.

“No.”

            Rimmer stood up, hesitated, then sat down again. Lister watched him carefully, “You okay?”

“Of course I’m not! You can’t just drop a bombshell like that on me and expect me to be okay!”

“Why not? It was over three million years ago for smeg’s sake.”

“Yes, but somewhere between two and ten times, over three million years ago! That’s hardly an insignificant number, is it? I mean...you’ve had sex with more men than I’ve had sex with women!”

“Yeah, but that’s not really saying much is it?” Lister remarked.

“Are we talking _actual_ sex here?” Rimmer demanded suddenly.

“What do you mean ‘actual sex’? As opposed to what?”

“I mean, we’re not just talking about putting your hand in the wrong place in a crowded sauna, or an accidental bumping of man-parts in a drunken hug, are we?” Lister stared at him in amazement, not sure whether to laugh or cry, “Rimmer, what is wrong with you? What kind of person would count either of those things even _remotely_ as sex?!”

“Well, I’m sorry! I’m just trying to get my head round the fact that the man I’ve been sharing a room with for the past three million years has had actual, full-on, gay homosexual intercourse somewhere between two and ten times!”

“Thank god I said less than ten!” Lister exclaimed, “If I’d said _more_ than ten, you might have overreacted!”

            Rimmer stared at the screen. If he’d known Lister was disappearing off to _shag_ that smarmy pretty-boy he’d have...he’d have...What would he have done? His brain couldn’t process this information. “Come on,” Lister murmured softly beside him, “You must have had some idea what was going on. The incident obviously stuck in your mind.”

“I just wanted to know what you were up to!” Which was true, he told himself. He had very much wanted to know what Lister was up to. But he never could have imagined _this_. Or could he? Even at the time, he’d known that _something_ about the situation bothered him, something that was more than annoyance or even concern. When he’d seen that hand not-quite-stroking Lister’s back, something inside him had reared up and kicked. What had his subconscious been trying to tell him?

“Why?” Lister pressed, “If you weren’t looking out for me then what _were_ you doing?”

“I can’t remember, it was too long ago!” Rimmer snapped angrily.

Lister glanced at the screen and smirked just a little, “You know...when we got through the doors...I made him kiss me. Right there in the corridor in front of everyone.”

“What?” Rimmer spluttered, “I never heard about that!”

“I don’t think anyone noticed,” Lister replied wistfully, “Or no-one cared.”

“Well, _I_ would have cared!” Rimmer said, horrified.

“I know,” Lister replied, “That’s why I did it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wanted you to see. I wanted to wind you up. Or shock you, I suppose. Or make you jealous. Something, anyway.”

“Make me _jealous_?!” Rimmer exclaimed.

            Lister stopped. Had he really just said that? Was that true? He remembered glancing over his shoulder into the crowd as he’d walked away, hoping to see Rimmer standing slack-jawed behind him. But why? What had he hoped to achieve? For Rimmer to know that he was getting some action – _any_ action – and he wasn’t? Or had he wanted Rimmer to know what he was missing?

“Why would I be jealous?” Rimmer demanded. Lister shrugged, with more indifference than he felt,

“At the time...I kind of thought you might have a little crush on me.”

“A crush?” Rimmer repeated, horrified, “Me? Crush...on you...”

“I know it seems daft now,” Lister said quickly, “But you have to admit, man, for a guy who claimed to hate me, you spent a lot of time hanging around.”

“Well...I...I...”

“And you didn’t seem to like it when I got too close to anyone. You scared away more than one girl I tried to chat up.”

“I didn’t want you bringing floozies back to our quarters!”

“If you’d known _he_ was chatting me up...” Lister nodded to the screen, “Would you have scared him away too?”

_Yes_ , Rimmer thought firmly. Out loud he said, “I would have stopped walking around in my underwear in the mornings.” Lister snorted.

“That’s nice. You can start tomorrow if you like.”

“Did you _want_ me to have a crush on you?”

            Lister sighed and looked skyward, “It hardly matters now, does it? But if you must know...” he looked deep inside himself and decided to speak the truth, “Yes. I suppose there was a part of me that liked the idea I could make you jealous. And I thought if you saw me with him, it might spur you on to do something. Or just say something even. But you never did.”

“ _You_ could have said something,” Rimmer pointed out accusingly.

“No,” Lister shook his head, “I couldn’t. You would have freaked out, denied everything. I knew if anything was going to happen between us, it would have to come from you. I just tried to nudge you in the right direction.”

“Well, that backfired, didn’t it? Seeing as I didn’t even know I was being nudged,” Rimmer said grumpily.

Lister cocked his head to one side, “And if you had?”

Rimmer shook himself, “I didn’t mean it like that! You shouldn’t have lied to me, that’s all I’m saying.”

“You lied too. Why didn’t you tell me you’d seen me? Why didn’t you just come straight out and ask me who that guy was?”

“Well...because...”

“Yes?”

“Because that would have made it seem like I cared!”

“But you did care. You cared enough to still dream about it...” Lister looked at the date in the top corner of the screen, “...Even after the accident.” He turned back to Rimmer, “And like I’ve said before – why would you dream about someone you don’t feel something for?”

            Rimmer rounded on him indignantly, “Don’t try and turn this on me! You’re the one who’s just admitted to a penchant for hot steamy guy-on-guy action! I hardly think having one little dream about you makes me a member of that club!”

Lister squinted at the screen, “It says here you had this dream a few times.”

“It still doesn’t mean anything!”

“Whatever, man,” Lister sighed, “It was all a long time ago. You know the truth now; mystery solved. Let’s just get on with it, yeah?”

“Fine,” Rimmer grumbled, “Play!”

            The screen slowly faded to black and a new dream began to run. Their old sleeping quarters appeared and, in the dream, Rimmer entered, supporting a very drunk, miserable Lister. _“Why did she leave me?”_ Lister was whimpering, _“I loved her so much. Why wasn’t that enough?”_ Rimmer dumped him on the lower bunk and knelt down to tug at his loosely knotted shoelaces, _“Because she was a shallow snotty cow,”_ he snapped impatiently, _“Stop going on about it, Lister.”_ He tugged the boots off and tossed them aside.

            In reality, Lister leaned forward in his chair. “This is the night you brought me home!” he said, “I don’t remember any of this!”

“Neither do I,” Rimmer frowned quizzically, “I don’t even remember having this dream.”

_“You don’t know what it’s like,_ ” the drunken dream-Lister said morosely, _“To love someone so much and know they’ll never feel the same way about you.”_

_“Yes,”_ the dream-Rimmer replied sarcastically, _“That’s right, Lister. Unrequited love is a **complete** mystery to me.”_

_“I just want someone who cares about me. Is that too much to ask for?”_

_“You,” Rimmer shook his head despairingly, “are a mess. You need to sober up. Come here.”_ He hauled Lister off the bunk into the shower room and began briskly stripping him down to his boxers.

            Back in the real world, Lister was puzzled, “This isn’t right. I had all my clothes on when I woke up. This part can’t be real.” Rimmer shrugged, equally baffled, as they watched him turn the shower on and firmly push Lister underneath the spray. _“There. You’ll feel better in a minute.”_

_“It’s cold!”_

_“You’ll thank me in the morning, trust me.”_ The dream-Rimmer’s eyes looked Lister up and down.

_“Can I get out now?”_

_“Not yet,”_ Rimmer replied, watching a large drop of water roll down Lister’s thigh. _“In fact, while you’re in there you could probably use a scrub down.”_

            The real Lister’s eyes widened as he watched Rimmer join him in the shower, pick up the shower gel and start to rub it over him. “I know I’m not an expert on these matters,” he remarked cautiously, without taking his eyes off the screen, “But it seems to me that there’s rather more soap involved here than is strictly necessary.”

_“Mmmm...that feels nice,”_ dream-Lister purred. Lister’s eyebrows shot up as he saw what happened next. “I’m almost positive,” he added slowly and clearly, “That this never happened. Drunk or not, I think I would have remembered.” He turned to Rimmer, who was watching the screen as if fixated, with an expression of abject horror. _“You have such strong hands, Rimmer.”_

Lister clapped a hand over his mouth, partly in disbelief and partly to stop the wild burst of laughter that was threatening to escape and reduce him to hysterics. “This is not my dream!” Rimmer practically screeched, “It must be one of yours that’s got mixed up on the machine!”

“Hey, don’t look at me!” Lister protested, just as his dream-self cooed adoringly, _“I never realised you were so big...It’s like a 1952 phase four telegraph pole!”_

            That did it. Lister doubled over with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh my god!” he gasped, “There’s no way you can pin this on me, man! There is no way I’ve ever said that, even in the deepest depths of my subconscious!”

“Off!” Rimmer leapt to his feet, scarlet-faced.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, I was enjoying that!” Lister grinned.

“Yes, I bet you were, you pervert!” Rimmer snapped

“Hey, it was your dream! I was just the star.”

“How did you do it?” Rimmer demanded, “How did you get that on there? This is some kind of practical joke, isn’t it?”

“Come off it, you saw the state of that thing when we dug it out. It hasn’t been touched for years.”

“There is no way that I’ve ever dreamed that! It’s absurd!”

“What’s _absurd_ is the crap you imagined me saying! I sounded like a deranged porn star!”

            Rimmer grabbed the front of Lister’s jacket and hauled him out of the chair, so they were nose to nose, “If you tell anyone about this, I swear to God...!”

“Oh, what? You’re worried that people might think you’re part of my _club_? Relax, for smeg’s sake,” Lister brushed him off, irritated, “What’s the big deal? You had a sex dream. It happens.” The devil in him decided to stir things up a bit, “That’s nothing compared to some of the things I’ve dreamt about _you_.”

“Wh...what?” Rimmer stammered, “You...have dreams...about _me_?”

“Yeah, man,” Lister smiled naughtily. Rimmer backed away, hands over his ears.

“I don’t want to know. I don’t want my brain polluted any further.”

“Fair enough. But maybe it’s best if I let you go through the rest of your subconscious by yourself,” Lister smirked, heading for the door.

“Lister?”

“Yeah?” he glanced back over his shoulder.

“In your dreams...Was I good?”

            Lister smiled warmly, his eyes sparkling, “Rimsy,” he said, “You were _spectacular_.” He headed out into the corridor and bit his lip with the hint of a smile. It might have taken three million years, but Lister had a feeling that it wouldn’t be a whole lot longer before a lot of dreams started coming true around here.


End file.
